What did healing look like? I had no idea. My therapist would talk to me, but how on earth do you translate that into action? No one ever gave me step by step. They just said, here do this and it’ll all get better. But how to do it, they just left that hanging.

I understand why they left it hanging though. Healing is an incredibly individual process. Everyone has different ways of doing and thinking and being, so its no surprise. Along with that, no one really likes to recall how difficult healing was for them. I mean talk about something hard to do. Face yourself and decide you love yourself anyway? Please. Our society demands we ignore and hate ourselves.

And going against society is just unthinkable, because then you won’t fit in and you won’t be loveable. You’ll be the outcast. The one weirdo who loves and accepts themselves completely. You’ll be whole in a world of broken and shattered people.

So starting to heal was difficult. I had this image in my head of a castle with a long and desolate road leading to it. Inside there was a tower and various broken buildings and homes. There were also some buildings and home still standing, but I couldn’t see them so well. And inside the tower was me at the age of about seven give or take a year. Below in the tower’s courtyard was a deep well that was covered and locked. Had no idea what was in there.

There was a place of rubble where a me knelt in silent anguish holding some stones in an attitude of supplication. The gate was closed and locked and a me wandered around in confusion because I’d lost the key.

This is how I had learned to cope with myself. Break off pieces and put them in various places throughout this desolate place that is all brown and grey and then I can just forget about them. My therapist said it was a sign of a creative and intelligent mind. Well I wasn’t sure about that, but it was sure nice to hear. Compliments were difficult and desperately needed.

So I tried to get into the tower first. It was kinda like Rapunzel’s tower. No way up and the child at the top did not have long hair. She was in a single room with very narrow arrow loops which were originally designed to protect her and afford her a way to fight back. I think. But she was too young and my parents just started shooting darts at her. So she sat there in a white and ragged shift and took each dart shot at her. She was covered in darts, weak and helpless.

I don’t know how I managed to get her down, but I did and we started working on a relationship. I had to promise I could protect her. Well, protecting myself was something I had never learned to do and it was so alien an idea that it took me some time to decide it was doable. Then I had to prove to her that I could and would protect her. This process took quite some time. I would walk into a field alone and kneel down and plead with her as though she were right in front of me.

I finally started to gain her trust and we managed to find Benevolence in a small home that was still standing. She helped out a lot. She’d mediate between us a lot and it was very instructive for me to finally start listening to myself. That is when I started learning to allow myself to love pieces of me. Not all of me. But pieces.

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